


Hungry

by edourado



Series: Hell's Kitchen Chronicles [86]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, fic request, kastle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 11:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edourado/pseuds/edourado
Summary: She fought it. With everything she had, she fought it. Karen can only fight for so long.





	Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> This one follows immediatelly after the events of Never Had. You don't have to read it, but it would help. I thought about making this a second chapter, but that one can also be read as Karedevil, so it gets a story of it's own.  
> Hope you enjoy.

She wakes up worried about him.

He insisted on sleeping on the couch, refusing even the possibility of her giving up her bed for him, even all injured and bruised as he was.

Before her alarm goes off, she sits up and smiles, inhaling the smell of fresh coffee.

Sure enough, he is standing there, moving around her kitchen with a familiarity she couldn’t claim to have herself - he knew where all her pots and pans and glasses and plates went. She, sometimes, got confused in the mess.

“Good morning”, she says, and it’s almost a question.

“Mornin’”, he replies, voice gruff and deep. Probably the first word he said after waking up. She picks up the mug he gives her, wondering how many people could claim the Punisher knows how they take their coffee.

“How did you sleep?”she asks after taking a sip, wondering where he had found not only a waffle maker, but the ingredients to make them.

“Good enough.”

Soon, he is putting two waffles in two plates and moving to the small table, motioning for her to join him with his head.

“Let me see”, she asks when they sit and he lets her touch his face, inspecting the wounds the grazing bullets left on his cheek last night. It’s red and angry. Karen sighs, remembering what it felt like to lie on the floor, Matt holding her, stopping her from going to him, probably saving her from getting herself killed.

“You’re not going out today, right?” she asks, dropping her hand, letting him eat, picking up her own fork.

Frank gives her a look. It’s not angry, but it’s definitely annoyed. He knows he has to stay put, at least until they manage to get an advantage. Liking it, though, it’s a different story.

“I can bring you something from the street”, she offers, eating the very good waffle he made her. “Do you want anything?”

Again, he fixes her with a look, but this one is different. It’s one of  _those_ , that make her blush and curl her toes. Even if she wants to look away - it’s too intense, that stare, he might as well be reading all of her thoughts - she holds it, even dares a tiny smile.

“Don’t know. Burger, maybe?”

She blinks and raises her brows.

“Junk food? That’s a first.”

“I dodged three bullets last night. Figure I earned it.”

“Indeed you have”, she says, smiling too much, tone it down, geez, she reprimands herself. “Burger it is. Fries?”

“With bacon.”

“Of course.”

“You got work today?” he asks after a few seconds of silence. She nods and is surprised when he makes a face. It’s only for a second, maybe even less than that, but he pouts. It’s gone in a flash when he takes another bite of his waffle. She is the one that stares this time, and she keeps staring until he motions to her mug.

“Drink your coffee.”

It’s strong and bitter, but he knows she takes it with one sugar, so there’s a faint sweetness to it.

Karen is reluctant to get up and go to work. She likes it when he’s here. She feels safe, and it’s early in the morning, so the city is not yet so loud, the light is golden through her curtains, the smell of coffee and the silence and the light and the stares make her want to stay. He makes her want to stay.

Alas, she has to go. It doesn’t take too long for her phone to start pinging, messages coming in, demanding her attention.

“Go”,  he says when she gets a call. “I’ll do the dishes.”

She’s talking to Trish on the phone, strategizing, coming up with meetings that were supposed to be about money laundering, but is actually about opening doors for the vigilantes in their lives.

His towel is hanging beside hers in the bathroom, the first aid kit (which stopped being “first aid” a long while ago) is on the sink. When she opens the cabinet, she sees the deodorant he forgot there once and now just lived here, along with shaving cream and her own products. His disposable toothbrush that was supposed to have been disposed already is sitting there next to her slightly fancier one.

The steam of her shower was still fogging up the bathroom, so there was no reasonable explanation for the chill that ran down her back at the sight of his shirt in the hamper. It was, she would have to admit, just the thought of having him here so regularly, occupying her space, making it look like…

Sighing, she smothers those thoughts, shaking her head, promising herself she would dwell on them once he was gone, even if she shouldn’t.

She was almost ready to go when Trish calls her again, asking for some files they had dug up weeks ago, that might have pertinent information.

“Yes, I got it here”, she answers, distracted for a moment with the work. “Tell me the numbers again.”

They are both excited about their new discovery - a technicality that would make Jessica’s and Matt’s work much easier, speeding the whole thing up.

“What are you gonna tell Ellison?” Trish is asking, but she’s distracted again.

Frank is standing in front of the kitchen sink, doing the dishes. It’s a simple enough image, except his shirt is very… Fitted. She can see the muscles of his back and shoulders, the defined lines of them before the fabric gets loose again around his waist. His pants are not so tight, but they rest low on his hips. He put the dish rag on his back pocket.

Karen swallows some extra saliva that suddenly pooled in her mouth and shakes her head, to try and remove that image. She does not need to be thinking about that the entire day.

“Ok, I’m out”, she announces and he looks behind him while she walks to the door, purse on her shoulder, briefcase full of files on her hand.

“You be careful”, he says in that voice of his and she would pray for him to stop sounding like that, except she likes it too much.

With a smile his way, she goes, gets out of that apartment because, honestly, she needs some air.

She is wondering how is she going to survive having him for a roommate without melting into a pile of wanton bones when Trish arrives for their meeting.

“So”, she asks after everything is dealt with and they stop for coffee on their way back to their own offices. “How’s… Francis?”

With a sigh, Karen thinks about lying. Saying it’s fine, it’s going good, telling her about his health and how he’s doing after being shot at.

But, in all honesty, she is tired of this. She can’t talk to Matt about stuff like that - God, she can’t even imagine that -, nor to Foggy, poor thing has enough on his plate dealing with his best friend being Daredevil, she doesn’t think he could handle her feelings for the Punisher.

She needs someone. A friend, someone that understands her and won’t judge the crazy things going through her mind, her heart and her body.

She figures Trish fits that description perfectly.

“He’s… Present.”

Trish squints.

“Like…”

“Yeah”. They both take a sip of their coffees. “He occupies to whole place. Even when he’s not there, does that make sense?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And I swear, I’m about to… I don’t know, I might be going crazy.”

“Listen. I’m not very familiar with him, only met the guy twice. But hey. I get you. I really do.”

Karen is feeling a bit better when she gets home again, holding a bag with his burger and fries. Talking to Trish really was the best decision. They laughed and they speculated and imagined and wondered.

Closing and locking the door behind her, she looks around for him. When she doesn’t find him, she moves to place her things on the coffee table.

He was in the bathroom, and Karen finds herself mute at the sight of him again.

The door was cracked open, she imagined to let the steam of the shower out. He was standing shirtless in front of the mirror, hands on the sink, the muscles of his arms bare and evident.

She’s just done mentally shaking herself again, to try and clear up her mind, when he looks her way and their eyes meet.

His body is what caught her attention. His eyes were the ones that caught hers. But it’s the big bruise on his chest that makes her gasp.

Before she can even think about it, she’s there, pushing the bathroom door open and he’s telling her it could be worse. Her face must betray her concern.

“Was this from that gun you told me about?”

“Probably”, he says, looking at his reflection in the mirror, and Karen leans against the counter, not able to take her eyes from the big purple bruise, sickly looking, a little under and to the right of his heart.

“I saw when it hit you”, she says while he runs a big wad of cotton over it, cleaning the scrapes left behind by his vest. “And then the ones on your face, I thought-”

She interrupts herself, not wishing to dwell on what she felt when she saw him fall, unconscious.

“I’m glad Red held you back”, he says, cringing when the antiseptic stings him.

“Yeah”, she agrees, taking the cotton from his hand, taking over in cleaning the scratches. “Me too.”

He winces when she presses a little harder than he had been, his hand closing around the edge of the counter.

“Sorry, sorry.”

She is focused on not hurting him, but being thorough, so she doesn’t immediately notice him watching her. When she raises her eyes and lets them wander around him, looking for more things to fix, she sees it.

And then she notices he’s really close. Really close. She is standing on the space between him and the sink, where she leans, and he is close enough that she sees his pupils dilate and contract.

Karen holds his gaze again, for a moment longer, and then looks down to prepare another wad of cotton to clean the wounds on his face.

He shuts his eyes tight when she touches the embedded cotton on his face and it’s like she can feel it herself. Holding her breath, she keeps it there, but leans closer to him, placing a kiss on his other cheek, free hand on his neck, trying to soothe.

It’s just meant to soothe, both of them. His bruises and her memory, to comfort both of them, and she meant to stay only a second, but the hand that gripped the counter raises and lands on her back, keeping her where she is.

She can’t see what she’s doing like that. She needs to lean back and look to know where to clean, where to press, where to be gentler. But he doesn’t let go of her. So she doesn’t move from there. She can feel his breath on her shoulder, and that shiver is back, running up and down her body when he closes his hand around the fabric of her blouse, face moving to the left towards hers and his lips land on her neck.

Her own eyes fall closed when he drags them a little, almost as if getting himself acquainted with that part of her, before his hand, still balled in a fist and holding her blouse on her back, presses her closer to him and he lifts his face until he has his mouth right on that spot under her ear, on her jaw, and she’s breathing heavily, right hand gripping his shoulder while the right one lets go of the cotton to sneak to the back of his head, slipping down his back when he lifts his head to catch her mouth with his.

There is a monster inside her stomach that threatens to consume her when he touches his tongue to hers, letting out some sort of growl that has her toes curling all over again.

He is fully pressed against her, now, both arms around her, pulling her blouse from inside her skirt, kissing her dizzy, and she’s trying to hold on to him, sighing to the ceiling when he lets go of her mouth in favor of her neck again, this time sucking on skin, pulling it through his teeth and she doesn’t care in the least that that is definitely gonna leave a mark. Let him do it, as many as he wants, she doesn’t care, she wants all of them.

Suddenly, he’s pulling back to pull her blouse over her head and she gets a glimpse of his face - serious as ever, with a hint of desperation that made that monster inside her purr with pride and possession.

Frank throws the article behind him without a thought and moved back in, his hands on her face, one thumb pulling on her lower lip, the other swiping over one of her eyes before he slides them up, weaving in her hair, pulling a bit to make her offer her neck to him and she grips his biceps when his mouth meets her skin again, lips and teeth and tongue. She loves it, maybe she loves it too much, letting go of his arms to support her hands on the sink, head tumbling back for him, one of his hands still on her hair while the other slides down her back.

He’s kissing her again, charged, full of that thing he has been hinting with his stares, with that way he looked at her lately.

It’s also full of something she never felt before in a kiss. His mouth and his tongue and his hands, he touches and kisses her like she’s water and he’s parched.

Like he’s hungry.    

She feels like she’s his already. Feels like he’s hers, the sounds he makes might as well be his surrendering.

Karen lifts her left hand to hold him by his shoulder when he finds the zipper of her skirt on her back. Her right hands runs the length of his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder and then down his back, those muscles she was admiring that morning taut and solid under her palm.

He lowers the zipper on her skirt and nips on she lobe of her ear. She yelps, surprised, when he lifts her skirt and pulls it over her head too, instead of lowering it down her legs like she expected. Maybe the laughter she lets out is a little nervous, since this is really happening, she really is standing here in her bathroom with him, just in her underwear.

It’s worth it, because he smiles too, throwing it back like he did with her top, such an open smile, and silences her laughter with another kiss, sneaking his arms around her, and hers are around him, she’s careful not to touch the wounds on his face, trying to commit the feel of him to memory, his solid body against hers, how small she feels inside his arms, that monster inside her purring at his kisses, at his hands, the way he grips her bottom before lifting her.

She’s sure he’s going to sit her on the counter, she’s fine with it, whatever he wants, she can’t think of anything she would deny him right now. She lets go of him with her left hand to support her weight on the cold counter, but once he has a hold of her, hands on her thighs and her right arm around his shoulder, he turns around and presses her against the door.

Only he doesn’t want the door. With his tongue sliding around hers, he takes a step back, bangs the door shut and then another step forward, pressing her to the wall. The tiles are cold against her skin, and she glides because of the steam of his shower, still making the bathroom warmer than it should be in the early days of fall.

And then he slows down. She can feel all of him, her skin is vibrating because of it, it’s her turn to press his skin between her teeth, and he sighs in her ear, one big hand exploring her leg while the other remains tight and still on her thigh, making sure she doesn’t budge from the spot he has her.

She can feel his hesitation in the way his hand finally leaves it’s spot and rises to her head, caressing her hair. It’s full of care, it’s tender and it’s wondering.

She doesn’t want him to wonder, not right now, she needs him to be sure, as sure as she is, so Karen makes him look at her, catches his eyes for a moment, trying to tell him, trying to make him see.

Her lips on his are soft at first, because she understands, she really does, what this might mean for him, so she is willing to slow down a bit, just to make sure.

Frank seems to understand it, because the hand on her hair is no longer soft. He’s pressing her mouth to his again, opening his up and sliding his tongue against hers one more time, sensually again, hungry again, moaning again.

Just to make sure, she redirects the hand on her waist to her back, leaning off the wall, relying on him for balance, placing his fingers on the hook of her bra and he is quick to respond, unhooking it in a second, pulling the thing off her, mouth lower again, hand pressing so good, and her eyes are closed, enjoying it while her own hand slides from his back, stopping on his neck for a second, around and down his chest, careful around his wound, landing on the waist of his pants, undoing them, wincing when he bites on a big chunk of her skin as she grips him, that growling making her feel powerful, mellow and pliable, putty in his hands.

Her moan echoes on the tiles of her tiny bathroom when he sinks into her after tugging and pulling on her underwear, probably ruining it, and she bites her lip to keep them in, because she doesn’t trust the walls, doesn’t trust her neighbors, doesn’t trust herself.

He moves deliciously, amazingly, just right, perfect, and Karen tightens her legs around him, nails sinking on his shoulder and fingers gripping his hair, half aware of his breath against her ear, lips on flesh, tongue coming out to taste the salt of her skin, hips thrusting so good.

She hears his name leave her lips, and he hums his response, both hands exploring now, touching what they can of her breasts, since they’re tightly pressed against his chest, lowering and gripping her legs, adjusting them like this and that, left hand finding her right one, fingers intertwining, and he moves both his arm and hers behind her back, making her arch against him, she wants to cry at how good it feels, and it comes out strangled, because she’s still biting on her own lower lip, but his thumb is there to pull it free, and she finds herself wrapping her tongue around his finger, sucking it inside her mouth when he touches her lips, and his teeth are pressing again, there at the base of her neck, biting and sucking, moving within her so good, so good she thinks she might fly right out of her body.

When he licks a path from one side of her neck to the other, she lets her head fall against the wall, right hand still tight around his on her back, the left one in his hair.

While he moves, his mouth makes it’s way up her neck, and she moves to kiss him again, she can’t get enough of kissing him.

He has his lips on her cheek when she opens her eyes and sees their reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her legs are tight around him, the muscles on his back are taut and shifting while he moves.

The vision of Frank pressing her against the wall like that is not something she’s gonna forget so soon, and she keeps watching, watching as he moves, as he plants his mouth wherever he can reach, left arm around her while his right one holds her under her knee, the hold almost a leverage for his thrusts, long and measured and hard, her throat is dry, she reaches a hand to hold him, the reflection of her fingers on his back and her legs around his waist and his grunts in her ear making her want more it it, more of it all, his chest against her, his skin is hot, feverish, she slides against him, both of them sweating, she needs more, more, more, more of him, she can’t get enough.

Karen stretches the leg he’s not holding, and it’s a small bathroom. Her right foot finds leverage on the sink, and she pushes against it, creating some resistance against him.

Frank lets go of her hand behind her back to pull on the roots of her hair again, speeding up, sending electrical shocks through her. Next, he lets go of her leg, but she keeps it there, and hugs her waist, pressing her to him further, she can barely move, he has her arched and twisted against him, but she loves it, closes her eyes again, arms around him, nails on his skin because she’s about to explode, she needs to hold on to something, God, please don’t let him stop, don’t ever let him stop.

She’s barely aware of her cries bouncing off the walls when she sees white and her body goes limp against him. Frank is kissing her when he steps back, carrying her away from the wall.

Next thing she knows, she’s lying on her bed, his hands are all over her, so is his mouth, soothing, kissing, caressing, nipping, pressing and licking, she’s shivering. But then his mouth is on hers again, he’s bending her leg, he’s on top of her, fuck, there he is, again, slower, she’s sensitive, but he’s so warm, it’s so good.

“Again”, he says in her ear, and she doesn’t even know what he means, but her body does, apparently, because she’s vibrating again, hands tight on whatever part she can find of him, responding to that hand he sneaked between them, how does he know to do that?

“Open your eyes”, he says, locking her leg around his hip and she does, sees him there above her, looks straight in his eyes, and he is inspecting her face, moving, moving, faster now, there’s a drop of sweat running from his brow down the side of his face and she reaches to pick it up.

Frank closes his own eyes and leans into her touch, removing his hand from between them and she whines, because she misses it immediately, but he’s speeding up, his thrusts are harder and he kisses her silent.

“One more time for me, c’mon”.

She opens her mouth to his kiss and he picks her hands up, pressing so hard she can’t even close her fingers around his, and pins them over her head on the mattress. Karen is about to ask him to let her touch him when he lets go, preferring to run his own hands around her body, and she holds him, bringing his mouth back to hers while he pushes her over that precipice again.

His head is resting on her chest and her fingers are roaming around his back, both of their breathing back under control, but their bodies still warm and slick with sweat, when she remembers his dinner.

“I got that burger for you”, she offers, realizing she’s thirsty, her throat is dry, and he shakes with quiet laughter, placing a kiss on her collarbone and turning them until they’re lying on their sides, and the look on his face is so self satisfied she almost laughs.

“I’ll order another one”, he says, nose bumping against hers sweetly. “I’m starving.”

He gets up to do just that, pressing kisses on her before going, and she walks towards the bathroom to take a shower.

Her reflection shows her all the spots he pressed and kissed and sucked and bit, and she can’t help but feel good at the sight, as shocking as it is.

She is rinsing shampoo from her hair when he walks in, and they kiss under the warm spray of the shower.

Karen falls asleep against his chest, tired and sore and so satisfied it should be illegal. 

Well, he’s the Punisher. It is a little illegal.


End file.
